


Spread Your Wings (And Fall)

by WhatIsAir



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Amenadiel is kinda a dick, Angst, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Humour, Luci needs to be protected at all costs, Lucifer needs help with feelings, Maze is a badass, bad Devil and/or Hell related jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer stares at the assorted guns on the table. "When exactly did we acquire so many firearms?"</p><p>Maze levels a steely look at him. "Ever since your immortal ass started looking a lot less immortal."</p><p>He places a hand over his heart. "Didn't know you cared, Maze. And tell me, what's my ass looking like now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spread Your Wings (And Fall)

"Bloody  _hell_ , that hurts," Lucifer groans, cheek ground into the sand and grit in his hair. 

 

"Not quite," Maze says from beside him.

 

He raises himself up onto his elbows, glancing over to find Maze already on her feet, surveying the beach, not a hair out of place despite having just travelled between  _dimensions_ , for Hell's sake.

 

"Think you'll find we're no longer there, boss." Maze looks out at the expanse of ocean, and the sun setting on the horizon like she can't quite believe it. (Like she can't quite believe she's abandoned her post in Hell all for one of Lucifer's whims.)

 

"Maze," Lucifer says between gritted teeth, as he struggles to his feet. He rolls his shoulders when he stands, his wings unfurling of their own accord, the spray of sea salt a soothing balm on his feathers. He grins, wings snapping out to meet the rush of the sea breeze (a welcome embrace after the fires of Hell) and lets himself think for a moment that maybe,  _just maybe_ , there was a point to some of Dad's creations after all.

 

The wind fades and his eyes open (when had he closed them?). He chides himself for indulging in sentiment; he'll only regret it afterwards.

 

"Maze, I need you to do something for me," he says, and the urgency in his voice has the demon turning to face him, concern writ in her furrowed brow, her hunched shoulders.

 

"Anything," she says, eyes glowing demonic black with her determination, before returning to their mortalized dark brown.

 

"I need you to," Lucifer says, and swallows, something like bile rising in his throat (except Kings of Hell aren't susceptible to such petty mortal effluence).

 

Instead he reaches over to Maze's belt, to where he knows she has two demon blades sheathed. He weighs the hellfire-forged steel in his hands before flipping them around and proffering them to Maze.

 

"Lucifer, what -"

 

But he's already turned his back on her as he hurriedly unbuttons his suit jacket (fingers trembling, most likely an unfortunate aftereffect of inter-dimensional travel, nothing more), casts it aside, and starts on his shirt.

 

"Lucifer, stop," Maze says, panic in her voice, no doubt aware exactly where this is going.

 

He doesn't. He lets his shirt fall onto the sand as he kneels, baring his back to Maze.

 

"This is madness!" Maze exclaims, scrambling to place herself in Lucifer's line of sight. "They were a gift from your father; they are as much a part of you as Hell is. You would cut yourself off from Hell forever? And all for what, for a whim? A pointless dream you're chasing against your father's will?"

 

"Maze," Lucifer says, then, more sharply when she refuses to meet his gaze, " _Mazikeen_. I - it's not part of who I am anymore." Then, when Maze finally looks at him, "Please."

 

Maybe it's the fact that he's never, in the history of his creation, banishment from Heaven and reign of Hell, had cause to utter the word that softens Maze's gaze, that has her nodding once, and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder gently. (Her hand lands on the join between his shoulder blade and wing, and Lucifer has to steel himself from recoiling.)

 

"Ready?" Maze asks, blade poised as she takes her position behind him.

 

Lucifer nods, hands curling into fists, as he spreads his wings for the last time.

 

-

 

Nothing is quite the same, after.

 

He remembers the blade, slicing through the scapular muscle, biting into bone. He remembers pain he hadn't felt since Dad banished him to Hell, forced to rule and mete out punishment for the damned for all eternity.

 

He doesn't remember the scream that rips its way out of his throat when Maze finishes one wing and starts on the other. He doesn't remember slumping, face-down, onto the beach when it's over, tears that he isn't meant to  _have_  soaking the sand.

 

He  _definitely_  doesn't remember Maze sheathing her blades and falling to her knees beside him, her usually steady hands shaking as she applies pressure to the wounds in his back, frantic litanies of "Stay with me, Lucifer" and "Lucifer,  _please_ " falling unheeded from her lips.

 

It ends with Maze propping him up by her side, slinging his arm over her shoulder and bearing most of his weight as she leads them off the beach and into the nearest hotel. He barely hears a word of Maze's curt exchange with the receptionist, nor that Maze probably swayed the poor girl with a little underworldly power; the next thing he registers is the soft scratch of a pillow against his cheek, and the faint rustle of a sheet being pulled over him.

 

He closes his eyes and lets himself be pulled under.

 

-

 

_"Once again, you disappoint me, Lucifer."_

 

_He opens his eyes, and finds himself back in Dear Old Dad's council hall, with its pristine walls, marble-tiled floors and overbearing personnel. His brothers and sisters are all gathered in a perfectly equidistant semi-circle around Dad's throne, wings unfurled to their full extent just to spite him. As he watches, Gabriel smirks at him from his position by their father's immediate left (Lucifer's old spot) and not-so-subtly gives him the finger._

 

 _"Piss off, Gabriel," he mutters, to a chorus of disapproving titters from his siblings. He ignores them, turns his attention instead to the figure seated on the throne, and spreads his arms out in a sweeping gesture that encompasses Heaven's throne room. "So this is what it takes to get an audience from you. Because nothing else I did over the eons_ mattered  _to you, did it? Except this - my final act of rebellion."_

 

 _His father shifts in his seat, and if Lucifer didn't know better, he'd go so far as to say he's just succeeded in making God_ uncomfortable _._

 

_"Lucifer, child," Dad says, clearing his throat. The angelic host lean forward as one, no doubt eager to see the errant son put in his place."You must understand that I am doing all I can, to rectify the situation. But in your current state it would be impossible for me to -"_

 

 _"In_ my _current state?" Lucifer demands, incredulous. "And what other course of action should I be expected to take,_ Father _," he spits out the word like it's poison (and it is), "when for millennia you have made me the scapegoat of humanity's worst crimes, my name feared and reviled everywhere I go?"_

 

_Dad spreads his arms out in that eternally frustrating, all-encompassing way of his. "You renounced my gift to you, son. That is not an act I can easily forgive -"_

 

_"You know what else can't easily be forgiven?" Lucifer snaps, anger boiling over until his spiritual form materializes and he towers, a twelve-foot tall column of rage and hellfire singeing his way across the throne room, leaving scorch marks in his wake. "Condemning me to an eternity of suffering, all to protect your ever-inflating ego."_

 

 _"_ Enough _," Dad stands, and the angelic host shrink back in a collective mixture of fear and respect. Lucifer's form dwindles, restoring him to a diminishing six-feet. "You will return to your post, Lucifer, and you will continue your duty as Lord of Hell. I will overlook your," here Dad pauses, levels a glance at the air where Lucifer's wings should be, "second fall from grace, as it were. Now begone."_

 

_His siblings snicker, and Gabriel raises a wing in mocking salute as Lucifer turns to leave, shame and humiliation burning high in his cheeks._

 

_-_

 

He wakes to find Maze sitting, back turned, on the edge of the bed, meticulously cleaning her knives of blood ( _his_  blood). He shifts, wincing when the movement aggravates the wings - the  _wounds_ \- on his back, and sits up gingerly.

 

"Oh, good, you're up," Maze says brusquely, and waves a hand at his bedside table. "Fancy a snack?"

 

There's a half-eaten pizza (pepperoni from the looks of it) and a bottle of hotel-issued champagne.

 

Lucifer opens his mouth, about to scoff at the notion that the former  _King of Hell_ should require mortal sustenance, when the smell of cheese, basil and tomato hit him. "Yes, actually," he says, and reaches for the whole box.

 

"Oh, Hell's  _fires_ , this is good," he groans appreciatively after the first bite. He can't remember the last time he's had anything other than the tortured cries of the damned to feast on.

 

"What?" he says, when he's halfway through his second slice and he glances up to see Maze staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

 

She shrugs, and hurriedly averts her eyes, hands going unerringly back to the knives in her lap. "Nothing, it's just. It's been a while, you know?"

 

"Been a while?"

 

Maze's hands still on the cloth she's running over the blades. "Since you looked - happy," she says haltingly, "Maybe - maybe leaving Hell wasn't such a terrible mistake after all."

 

"Yeah," Lucifer murmurs, and resolves never to speak of the exchange he's just had with Dear Old Dad to Maze, in case she starts entertaining ideas of returning to Hell. He nudges the remainder of the pizza over to Maze. "To better times on Earth."  
  
Maze grins, leans over and pours both of them a drink from the no-longer-chilled champagne bottle. "To better times."

 

They drink to it, and as the lukewarm alcohol fizzes its way down his throat, Lucifer ignores the painful reminders etched permanently into his shoulder blades and lets himself believe Maze's words.

 

-

**_3 months later_ **

 

"Lucifer, we need to talk."

 

Lucifer blinks against the harsh glare of the morning sunlight (he may be the Morning Star, but that does  _not_  mean he agrees with the rest of what his namesake entails). He's in bed with both of the Britneys, and a young man whose name he can't for the life of him remember, and Maze is standing at the foot of his bed, hands on her hips and disapproval written in every line of her posture.

 

"Yes, Maze, can it wait? I don't know if you've noticed, but I've got my hands rather full at the moment." He punctuates this with a sweeping gesture that encompasses himself, the Britneys and the Mysterious Nameless Young Man, all of whom are still asleep.

 

" _No_ , Lucifer, it can't," Maze says. Then, narrowing her eyes, she says, "It's about Detective Decker," before spinning on her stiletto boots and stalking off to the lounge as if to prove a point.

 

Lucifer hates it, absolutely  _hates_  it, to prove her right. But he swings his legs over the side of the bed, liberates his dressing gown from under one of the Britneys and shuffles out to meet Maze.

 

"You shouldn't spend so much time around her," Maze says, before he's even settled down onto the sofa (which,  _rude_ ).

 

"Ah, Maze, cutting to the chase. As usual."

 

"I'm serious, Lucifer," Maze says, eyes flaring an inhuman black in her agitation, "She's - dangerous. She  _shot_  you, for hell's sake! Isn't that proof enough?"

 

He stands and strides to the bar, hands finding the tumbler and glass with practised ease. He ignores the slight  tremour in his hands, almost imperceptible, as he pours himself a finger of whiskey. "She only shot me because I  _asked_  her to."

 

"Why are you so protective of her, Lucifer? Are you getting attached?"

 

"Stop," he says, his grip on the decanter tightening.

 

"I've always known you had a fondness for pets, Lucifer. I just never expected it to be someone like  _her_ , of all people." Maze is closer now, the click-clack of her heels against his marble-tiled floor loud in the otherwise silent room. "I thought you wanted her, like you wanted all those women before her. I thought, once you got her, fucked her, then this -  _madness_ would be over. But this is different for you, isn't it."

 

Maze reaches the bar and slides a hand along the countertop, her nails clicking with a sort of finality against its surface. She leans in close, licks a strip along the underside of his jaw, and grins at the barely repressed shudder that elicits from him. "Oh, you  _care_  for your little mortal pet so much, it's incredibly heart-warming."

 

"Maze, that's enough," he snaps, and pushes away from her and the bar, striding back to the sofa in the middle of the room.

 

"Ooh, touchy," Maze smirks, though she doesn't try to follow. She straightens, heading for the lift that'll take her back down to Lux. The lift doors open and she pauses before going in. "Just remember: when she eventually leaves you for  _Detective Dan_ , that I'm  the one who's always been by your side, through literal Hell and back. Don't come running to me then, Lucifer."

 

"I won't!" he calls, and downs his glass in one go before the lift doors have even clanged shut. His hand is still trembling when he sets the glass down; he flings it against the nearest wall and it shatters, fragile and easily broken, like so many of the poor mortal souls he's encountered. (He just hopes Detective Decker's isn't one to easily break.)

 

The sound of Maze's laugh stays with him all throughout the day's case (an embezzlement gone wrong resulting in two bodies and a comatose patient), and eventually Detective realizes he's not going to be of much help, shoves a bagel at him and tells him to take the day off.

 

The bagel's pretty good, but it does nothing to wash away the bitter taste of his and Maze's fight, lodged in the back of his throat.

 

-

 

They learn to work around the situation. Lucifer learns to reply with 'working on a case' rather than 'over at Detective Decker's' whenever Maze asks him where he's been, and similarly Maze learns not to make thinly veiled threats at the detective whenever she seeks him out at Lux. Although in Dr Martin's eyes they're probably more  _in denial_  than  _making progress_ , they've at least managed to re-establish their easy camaraderie, which the entrance of Detective Decker into his life - oh, three months ago now? - had completely destroyed.

 

As with everything in his life since God decided to create him, however, it inevitably all goes to hell. (Haha, yes, he's well aware of the irony, thank you very much.)

 

His latest case with the detective culminates in the recovering of his container, and the certainty when he swings open the false door to the hidden compartment that some bastard's stolen his wings.

 

"I don't understand," Detective says, and is that concern for him tugging at the corner of her lips, in the furrow of her brow? Lucifer mentally shakes himself; now is not the time for sentiment. "I get that they're your wings, but why do they mean so much to you?"

 

"I -" Lucifer starts, and stops, because he doesn't think there are words. "They are - a part of me, Detective, as much as your right arm, your left leg, are a part of you. Losing them is like - losing a piece of who I am."

 

"Okay," the detective says, reaching out with a steady hand and squeezing his shoulder. He clenches his fist to hide the tremour running through his arm. "Okay, just breathe, Lucifer. We'll get them back for you, just breathe."

 

-

 

"Maze, I need your help."

 

Maze arches an eyebrow from where she's perched on a barstool, drinking straight out of a decanter. "Oh, you do, do you?"

 

"Maze, please."

 

Maybe it's because this is the second time in his entire existence he's used the word, and both those times Maze the object of it, that has Maze placing the whiskey down and turning to face him fully.

 

"My wings," Lucifer says, and takes a swig of Maze's abandoned drink to steady himself, "They've been stolen."

 

She's calm, and takes it in stride without any of the berating he'd expected from her. She stands, reaches under the counter and withdraws two handguns, one of which she thrusts at him. She continues her sweep of their under-the-counter weaponry, and emerges with a demon blade in each boot, two more in her belt, and an extra pistol which she tucks into an inner pocket of her leather jacket.

 

"Well?" she throws over her shoulder, already on her way up the stairs that lead to ground-level. "Are we getting your wings back or not?"

"I - yes, of course," he says, tucking the gun into his belt like he's seen the detective do countless times, "And - when exactly did we acquire so many firearms, if you don't mind my asking?"

 

Maze levels a steely look down at him from where she's reached the top of the stairs. Lucifer swallows; he knows that look. He's seen it in her eyes innumerable times, usually seconds before she tears into a new soul and begins their eternity-long torture. "Ever since your immortal ass started looking a  _lot_  less immortal."

 

"Oh, really?" Lucifer calls, hurrying after her, who's already disappearing through the front door of Lux, back out into the cruel world. He places a hand over his heart (well - where it would be if he had one). "I didn't know you cared, Maze. And tell me, what's my ass looking like now?"

 

Maze rolls her eyes and shoves at his chest, lightly. "Fucking insufferable," she mutters, but there's a slight grin on her lips that belie her words.

 

"Thank you," Lucifer smirks, "It's all I've ever aspired to be."

 

-

 

Naturally, because the universe and fate (read: Dear Old Dad) are conspiring against him, the wings at the auction turn out to be a fluke and within ten minutes of their arrival, the FBI are swarming the place.

 

"Brother!" Lucifer calls, throwing the abomination these pretenders call  _wings_ to the ground in disgust, and hopes his prayer will be heard.

 

The sudden, dramatic slowing-down of everyone else around them heralds his brother's arrival, and sure enough, Amenadiel lands with a dramatic flourish of black feathers.

 

"You called, brother?"

 

"Yes, I did," Lucifer grins, catlike and wide, "And you came, like a dog to heel."

 

Amenadiel looks supremely unimpressed as he levels a pointed glance at Lucifer. "I can leave at any time, you know, Luci. Leave you and Maze stranded and gift-wrapped for the feds."

 

"Yes, of course," Lucifer murmurs, glancing between Maze and his brother. He wonders when Amenadiel started calling her the shortened version of her name. It's not an honour she bestows lightly upon just anyone.

 

Amenadiel raises an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you didn't call for me just to gloat, Luci."

 

"Hm?" Lucifer blinks. Perhaps all this is the mere manifestation of his paranoia. He thinks about the detective's earlier words:  _Not everyone is out to get you, Lucifer_  and for the first time, lets himself believe them.

 

He turns, flashes Amenadiel a smile. "You couldn't give us a ride out of here, could you, brother?"

 

-

 

The moment Amenadiel takes them back to the beach where it all began, Lucifer knows he's been played.

 

"Looking for these?"

 

Lucifer spins around, disoriented. His brother's standing ten feet away, with a pair of wings -  _his_  wings - laid out at his feet. He starts for them, but Amenadiel thrusts out his wings, the force of the wind pushing Lucifer back, causing him to stumble.

 

"Those are mine, Amenadiel, you had no right," he growls, imbuing his voice with the infernal rage of his true voice.

 

Amenadiel merely looks amused. "My, my, brother. What a temper. You know, I'm starting to think Maze was right."

 

The words feel not unlike what a demon blade to the gut would feel. Lucifer turns to Maze, accusation burning in his eyes. " _Mazikeen_ , what -"

 

"I can explain -" Maze starts, starting forward, the placating hand she has outstretched trembling just slightly.

 

"Oh, I hardly think that will be necessary," Amenadiel cuts in smoothly, glancing back and forth between Lucifer and Maze with interest, "Luci's a big boy. Why not let him work it out himself."

 

Lucifer ignores the haze of red that's clouded his vision (quite literally; it's a sign he doesn't have long before his spiritual form takes over and he unleashes his wrath on whatever happens to be in his way). What? He's entitled to anger; when Dad got angry he smote all of creation save Noah, his family and a few choice animals.

 

"You had my wings all along," Lucifer says, voice deceptively calm. "You knew I'd go after them, so you had someone - Maze, probably - switch them out with the fake ones at the auction, knowing I'd call you when the auction was a bust. You did all that just to bring me here, why?"

 

Amenadiel grins, slow and sure. "Well done, Sherlock. As for why you're here," he spreads his arms and wings in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Dear Old Dad, "consider it a reminder, brother."

 

"A reminder?"

 

"You're here because we want you to remember that your duty lies to God, Lucifer," Amenadiel says, coming to stand beside Maze. He straightens his shoulders and draws his wings vertically up to their full height (a gesture Lucifer doesn't have the heart to tell him sounds far more impressive than it actually looks). "No more of this -  _Earth_  nonsense. We want you to -"

 

Maze snorts, and steps out from under Amenadiel's wing. "Oh no, feather boy. There is no 'we'. There's only been you, your larger-than-life ego and the stick lodged so far up your feathery ass I'm surprised you're not choking on it. We're not a  _team_ , Amenadiel, we've never been."

 

" _Maze_ ," Lucifer says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that he's helpless to stop. Maze always  _was_ her most endearing when she started slipping into her 'Star Torturer of Hell' persona. "Starting to remember why I keep you around."

 

Maze smirks. "Thought you kept me around because I'm easier on the eyes than anyone you know."

 

The knife in his gut eases, just a bit. "That, too."

 

"Enough," Amenadiel cuts in, evidently feeling wrong-footed now that it's two against one. "Luci, you're coming back to Hell with me, or -"

 

"Or  _what_ , brother, hm?" Lucifer sneers, "What punishment could you or Father  _possibly_ dish out that's worse than an eternity of Hell?"

 

Amenadiel cocks his head to the side, assessing. "Oh, I'm sure I can think up something." 

 

There's a rustle of wings, the usual slowing down of atoms, so Lucifer can feel every drop of sea spray, hear every individual wave crash against the shoreline, before time rights itself and Amenadiel is standing behind Maze, a demon blade of his own held against her throat.

 

Lucifer's heart (okay, he doesn't have one, it's an expression) lodges itself at the back of his throat. "Whoa, easy there, bro," he says, his whole world narrowed down to the tip of the poisonous blade, and the mere inch separating it from Maze's neck. "No need to get violent now. Dear me, threatening a life, what would Dear Old Dad think?"

 

"If it's a mere demon's life, do you really think Father would care?" Amenadiel grins, a white flash of teeth against the rapidly darkening night. "Oh, Luci, have I struck a nerve? Does someone care a bit more for their pet demon than they're letting on?"

 

The blade presses closer, at the same time Maze meets his eyes and slowly starts reaching for her belt. There's a split-second window of opportunity before Amenadiel finds out and stops her, and Lucifer takes it.

 

He drops to his knees, planting one hand on the sand. "Please, brother," he says, letting his voice waver and break like he's heard so many humans do, "Spare her, spare Mazikeen, and I'll do as you say. I'll return to Hell, and carry out my duties as a loyal son should."

 

Amenadiel considers him, shoulders slumped forward in defeat, and that's all the hesitation Maze needs. She unsheathes one of her blades at the same time Lucifer's hand closes around the gun at the small of his back, brings it around and fires at Amenadiel. The bullet glances harmlessly off the angel's kneecap, but the surprise attack does loosen Amenadiel's grip on the blade at Maze's throat. As soon as she's free, Maze ducks, rolling away and sending her blade spinning through the air towards the angel.

 

Or - well, where he's supposed to be, anyway.

 

The telltale rustling of feathers and flapping of wings growing steadily fainter are both indications of Amenadiel's hasty retreat. Pity. He'd been hoping to at least have Maze give his brother a little  _scratch_  before the night was out.

 

"Well, I don't think he's going to be back anytime soon," he says, getting up and dusting off his trousers (Prada, of course). "Oh, these are going to be a nightmare to dry clean. Come on, Maze, you grab the left wing, I'll do the right."

 

He scrambles up the beach to where Amenadiel had abandoned his wings, when he notices Maze isn't with him. He turns. "Maze?"

 

"Lucifer, I -" Maze has an expression on her face akin to the one she'd had a few centuries back, when she'd been asked to torture a soul she'd slept with whilst he was alive. "I must apologize -"

 

"No need," he says brusquely.

 

"But I -"

 

His expression softens. "I know you had -  _have_  my best interests at heart, Maze. I should have told you I never meant to return to Hell to start with, not to spite my father, but just. I've lived eons listening to and overseeing the suffering of countless damned souls, but this is the first time I've experienced some suffering of my own, and it's - refreshing, to say the least."

 

Maze gives him a look that indicates she wants him tried for mental instability. "You - want to stay here with the mortals so you can  _suffer_?"

 

"Yes! Exactly, so glad you're keeping up," he says, "Now will you help me with -"

 

"Just to be clear," Maze interrupts, narrowing her eyes and stepping closer, " _I_ get to choose whether or not to return to Hell, don't I? You're not going to make me stay and suffer with you?"

 

And there it is again. The knife, easing its way through his rib cage to pierce his non-existent heart. "Of - of course not," he says, and wonders when the red haze clouding his vision had been replaced with moisture. "I know you're bound to me, Maze, but you're under no obligation to stay -"

 

"Lucifer," Maze says, talking over him. " _Lucifer_." She's a lot closer now; her hands are on his shoulders and her eyes are on his. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

Lucifer frowns. "But you said -"

 

"Just testing out a theory," Maze shrugs.

 

"Which is?"

 

"That all that time you've spent in Hell, you've gotten so attuned to what  _other people_  are suffering, that you never learnt to process your own pain."

 

"Maze, that's completely insane," Lucifer laughs, albeit slightly nervously. "Have you been chatting to Dr Martin, too? I'll have to have a word with her; what part of  _patient confidentiality_ does that woman not -"

 

He's cut off by Maze's sudden attack, by the urgent clash of her mouth on his, as one of her hands slide from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, and he shudders and gives himself over to her, to the kiss, and with the waves crashing against the shore and the sea spray lifting his hair, it almost feels as though he could just spread his wings - and fly.

 

-

 

Later, when they're back at the penthouse and Lucifer's bed is a mess of sheets, scattered clothing and the miscellaneous handcuff, Maze hooks her leg over one of Lucifer's, places the point of her chin squarely on his breastbone, and says, "So tell me, when did Heaven's most rebellious angel turn into such a martyr?"

 

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. "What definition of 'martyr' are we going by, Maze? Because last I checked, I wasn't  _quite_  prepared to die for you, so -"

 

"But you were willing to return to Hell," Maze says, all seriousness now, the black of her pupils eclipsing her irises and the whites of her eyes as she speaks. "And for you, that's a fate far worse than death."

 

Lucifer stalls. "You're not - wrong," he says, and distracts Maze by flipping them over and sucking a bruise over Maze's neck, right over where her pulse point should be.

 

"Has - anyone ever told you," Maze gasps, one hand on the back of Lucifer's head, silently encouraging him to continue, "That the things your tongue can do are positively  _sinful_?"

He grins against the skin of her neck. "A couple. In fact," he sits up, and Maze makes a displeased sound at the separation, "I think you were the first person to tell me, all those centuries ago. That's probably where the phrase comes from, you know."

 

Maze sits up, then, so suddenly their foreheads almost collide in an ungainly fashion. "I made a mistake," she blurts out, and Lucifer feels the first icy tendrils of Dread and Panic, snaking through his chest and wrapping round his rib cage.

 

"Mistake?" he says, voice colder than when Hell froze over (long story short: Hell's central heating broke down and it was half a decade before anyone bothered to fix it). "I see."

 

He turns, extricates himself from Maze, from the sheets tangled at his waist, and makes to leave before Maze can see his face. There's a telltale waver in his voice when he next speaks that he curses himself for. "I am - sorry this was a mistake to you, Maze, now if you'll excuse me I'll -"

 

" _God_ , Lucifer, will you stop being such a drama queen and just  _listen_  to me for one second?" Maze bursts out behind him, and it's the invocation of Dear Old Dad's name, rather than Maze's words, that has Lucifer turning back.

 

The sheets are draped with almost sinful accuracy over Maze's lap, her hair the kind of dishevelled that he knows can only be achieved by running his hands through them over the course of the night, and Lucifer only barely refrains from tipping her over onto the sheets and sealing his mouth over hers. Just barely. (Maybe the devil  _can_  be tamed, after all.)

 

"I made a mistake when I ended things, all those centuries ago," Maze starts, which wasn't what Lucifer had expected at all, "I should never have. But by the time I realized my mistake, you wouldn't have me back, and so I vowed to be the next best thing. I vowed to be the best protector you would ever have, and to always be by your side, even if things looked a little -" she pauses and here Lucifer has the sneaking suspicion she's thinking of their first night on Earth, "- grim."

 

"So what are you saying?" Lucifer arches an eyebrow, not entirely convinced Maze isn't goading him into something else.

 

"What I'm saying," Maze murmurs, shifting closer on the bed until their sides are touching, "Is that I am with you, Lucifer, from now until the end, whatever form that may come in. I give you my word."

 

Lucifer smirks, the warmth blooming in his chest foreign and not unwelcome, as he tips Maze over so they both fall onto the bedspread, and says against her lips, "And what do you want from me in return? A deal's a deal, and you're dealing with the best."

 

Maze arches up, hooking her legs over the backs of his thighs so they meet in the middle, and says, "You, just you. It's all I've ever wanted."

 

"As you wish," he grins, so close that Maze's lips move with his, shaping the same words, and they seal it in the most traditional of ways. With a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed that xx this is my first Lucifer fic :3 I finished the season finale yesterday and was too pent up with feels to do much else, hence this.
> 
> if you liked it please drop me a comment - they mean the world to me (: have a great day y'all and i'll probably be back with more angst-riddled Morningstar real soon x


End file.
